


The Wedding of Hephaestus and Aglaia

by odiko_ptino



Series: Featured Character: Aglaia [1]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, don't forget Hephaestus married Aglaia, the three Graces
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 19:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odiko_ptino/pseuds/odiko_ptino
Summary: After the affair, after the scandal...there was love again.





	1. Drinking Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dionysus takes a depressed, post-divorce Hephaestus to a party.

Hephaestus wakes up, bound hand and foot and draped over the back of a donkey.

He doesn’t have time to panic before Dionysus’ face drops down, grinning cheerfully.

“Good afternoon, Heph! Good to see you’re awake!”

“Dionysus?!  W-what – where the hell – ”

“Your volcano is depressing. We’re going someplace better.”

“Going – what? Where?!  Why am I –?”

“Not very articulate, Heph. Maybe you’re still drunk?” Dionysus’ grin widens and he boops Hephaestus’ nose before straightening back up, walking alongside the donkey.  

It’s all starting to come back to him, very slowly.  “You – damn it, Dionysus!  You came over and got me drunk again!”

“You  _needed_  it, pal.  You were dragging around your forge like you were already dead; I came over to try to cheer you up but I was ready to start crying just seeing your pitiful state. Healing is not possible in that house of misery.  So, we’re heading to my grove, for a party.  No, don’t worry, no maenads this time!”  Dionysus holds up his hands defensively.  

“Why.. am I… hanging off the side of this donkey…”

“You were pretty out of it. Didn’t think you’d be up to walking, when you’re alternately drunk out of your mind, or just passed out.”

“I’m  _tied up_ , Dionysus!”

“So you wouldn’t fall off!”

“Yeah but… ” Hephaestus doesn’t bother to finish arguing.  It’s hard to get any leverage in a conversation when you’re hanging upside-down anyway.  Which is really the first thing that needs to be addressed.  

“Dionysus, this is honestly pretty uncomfortable.  Let me at least sit upright.”

Hephaestus can’t see Dionysus’ face, but he can sense the good-natured leer.  “Ahh, I dunno, I kinda like the impression that I’m whisking away a young man for a night of debauchery – ”

“ _Now_ , Dionysus, before I throw up on your sandals!”

Dionysus doesn’t actually jump back at this threat like another god might – probably pretty desensitized to such things by now.  But he does grumble acquiescence as he cuts the ties on Hephaestus’ ankles and wrists, and guides the other god upright.

Sitting up on the donkey, Hephaestus looks around blearily.  He has no idea where he is, based on his surroundings, though he’s plainly a long way from either his volcano or the sea.  It makes him uneasy – his forge and the Nereids’ grotto are the only places he feels truly safe anymore.  His foster mothers still adore and love him unconditionally, even when he feels his footing on Olympus is unsteady.  And his forge is his alone.  Well, save for the Cyclopes, but he’d sent them away last night.

Last night – Hephaestus had been in a pretty bleak state, yeah.  No better or worse than he’s been for a few weeks, though he’s probably in better shape now than he was immediately after… well, after everything happened.  Still, if there’s any situation that justifies moping in solitude, Hephaestus really thinks it would be finding out that your wife has been sleeping with your brother, and when you call them out about it, everyone else laughs at you.  

Hephaestus remembers Dionysus coming into the forge, wine in hand and.. not much after that.  Though it’s clear that a lot has happened in the last six-to-twelve hours.

There are so many hundreds of problems presenting themselves at the moment that it’s hard to choose which one deserves outrage the most; Hephaestus decides to address several of the highlights at once.

“You think I’m being depressing, so your solution is to get me drunk, kidnap me, and force me to go to a party, where I can see all the people who watched my humiliation?”  

“Yup!”  

If there was an award for missing a hint… but actually, Hephaestus suspects that Dionysus is being deliberately obtuse here.  

“This is kind of your modus operandi, isn’t it.”

“It wouldn’t have to be my m.o., if I didn’t know from past attempts that it  _works_ ,” Dionysus chides.  “You’re pretty easy to kidnap, buddy.  See again: lightweight.  You  _have_  to fix that.”

“I don’t – ” Hephaestus doesn’t bother finishing his argument.  “How am I even going to get around at this party?  We don’t have my chair, or my handmaidens, or my –”

“I got your stick!” Dionysus brandishes said stick cheerfully.  “And honestly, I wish you’d quit calling them that.  I’m never going to recover from my disappointment – you tell a guy you have a dozen handmaidens at your beck and call, and I picture something sexier than a bronze statue come to life.”

“They’re useful.  They help me get around.”

“Well, you won’t need them today.  I’ve arranged for actual handmaidens to help you if you need it; and as for traveling, Komma Omada here doesn’t mind offering you a lift to a friend.”

Hephaestus closes his eyes briefly.  “You named.. your donkey.. ‘Party Squad?’”

“Hey, don’t make fun of her. She’s got a higher tolerance than you, apparently… not like that’s a high bar to clear,” Dionysus snickers. “Your lightweight is a disgrace! We gotta work on that!”

“That’s at the bottom of the list of ways I’m a disgrace,” Hephaestus mutters to himself.  Then, only slightly louder, he says: “I really don’t want to see them, Dionysus.”

Dionysus’ voice is gentler when he replies.  “You can’t hide in your volcano forever, kiddo.”

“I’m older than you.” Hephaestus realizes he sounds petulant and tries for a stronger comeback.  “I could stay there, too.  They didn’t need me before.  Things were  _nice_  before, when it was just me and the Nereids.”

“There’s about a million and twelve variations of wisdom about not being afraid to live.  That’s what I’m here for – I provide the liquid courage to give you a jump-start!”

“I don’t want to see them,” Hephaestus insists.

“There isn’t even going to be any ‘them’ for you to see.  Only friends, I promise!  It’s a small affair this time – just me, you, Athena… Hermes, Apollo… I even dragged Artemis out of the woods for this!”

“Wait, you said – handmaidens?”  Hephaestus feels horror building.  “Did you ask Athena and Artemis to be handmaidens?!”  

“Pfft, no, dumbass! I’m not an idiot!”  Dionysus scoffs, carefully leading Party Squad around a small ravine.  “I’ve been in touch with Eurynome – you know, one of your foster moms?  Anyway, I talk to her a lot because her three daughters are always at the parties.”

“The girls?” Hephaestus tries to remember. There were three small girls who would sometimes accompany Eurynome, when she visited the grotto.  They always pestered Hephaestus for treats or trinkets, marveling as he created small jewelries and toys for them in his small forge there.  “Euphrosyne, Thalia, and, uh… Aglaia?  But they’re kids!”

Dionysus whistles. “Not anymore, they’re not. They’re the Graces now – you really don’t get out of your forge much, do you?  They’re tons of fun.  No party is complete without them!  Anyway, Eurynome is always stopping by to threaten me to make sure they don’t get hurt or anything.  Then after she makes her threats, we chat for a bit, and she tells me how miserable you’ve been – she really still frets over you like a mother hen, you know?  It’s sweet!”

Red-faced, Hephaestus only mutters something under his breath.  Though secretly, he’s moved to hear further evidence that he can always count on the Nereids.

“…so, the Graces agreed for sure to be your assistants tonight.  Anything for their big brother – that’s what they called you, isn’t that cute?”

“’Brother’ isn’t my favorite word right now.”

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Dionysus whaps Hephaestus lightly on the head with the cane.  “You gotta quit sulking.”

Hephaestus rubs his head and scowls – in spite of the fact that a scowl on an already-ugly face has to be off-putting, Dionysus looks entirely unfazed. “Are you honestly accusing me of being oversensitive?  I’m just – overreacting?”

“Nah.  Anyone could see you were pretty hurt.  You weren’t overreacting – but it’s got to end, man.  Nothing will ever get better if you keep dragging out your misery like this.”

Hephaestus puts his fist to his forehead, waiting until the rise of bile goes back down.  He can’t tell if it’s a holdover from last night or a visceral reaction to this conversation.

“…It was bad, Dio,” he finally admits.  I really – hurt wasn’t even all of it.  I felt – stupid, too, that I believed everything was great, like I was finally coming into my own, and then it just – ended.  I don’t know how to even deal with all this –  _fuck_.”

Dionysus pats Hephaestus’ back sympathetically.  “It’s always like that, after a break-up.  Especially you, poor kid, that was your first relationship, wasn’t it?”

“ _I’m older than you_ ,” Hephaestus growls, ready to argue more, but Dionysus keeps talking.

“We’ve all been through humiliating breakups, and they all suck.  Apollo’s nymph Daphne turned into a tree to get away from him.  Poseidon went through an elaborate courtship of Hestia only for her to tell him she was dedicated to being a virgin goddess, which everyone knew except him apparently.  Uh, Zeus gets chewed out pretty much daily when he gets caught with his lovers, and they get turned into cows or whatever, and it’s a joke in the drinking halls for years afterwards.  Hell, even I got dumped by Nyx and she tried to kill me afterwards…”

Hephaestus actually jolts in shock at this, and his weak, twisted legs are unable to grip onto Party Squad’s back.  He would have fallen straight off the donkey into the river alongside them, if Dionysus hadn’t quickly gripped his chiton and yanked him back upright.

“Damn, Heph – you okay?”

“Y-you slept with  _Nyx_?!”  Hephaestus sputters instead of answering.

Dionysus laughs, loud with genuine amusement, and waggles his eyebrows at Hephaestus.  “That was a wild ride, let me tell you!”

“Shit – Dio – even Zeus is afraid of her!”

“Aw, she’s not so bad.”

“But – you said – she tried to kill you?!”

“Yeah, that was weird.” Dionysus pauses, withdrawing his flask from the sling he carries it on, and takes a long draw from it, before offering it to Hephaestus.  Hephaestus considers refusing it, but thinks the ‘liquid courage’ might be a good idea prior to them arriving at this party.  So he takes a drink of extraordinarily smooth, sweet wine, while Dionysus continues.

“Apparently, Nyx was so angry about our break-up, that she somehow contrived to have our son Phtonus – you may have seen him around, god of jealousy and envy?  Anyway, she managed to have him in the  _past_  somehow, expressly so that he’d be able to direct Hera’s attention to Zeus’ affair with my mother Semele – this was all an attempt to end my life, you see.”  Hephaestus just shakes his head in wonder.  “Would have worked, but Zeus managed to give birth to me himself, then Phtonus realized that if he’d been successful, then both of us would have died, so he started yelling at Nyx, who started yelling at me, and in the natural way of things, we ‘hashed it out’ and everything’s fine now.”

“Ouranos’  _balls_ ,” Hephaestus utters.

“So you see why I’m advocating moving on, in these cases… we all have to live with each other forever, you know.”

There was a long silence after this anecdote, while Hephaestus mulls it over and Dionysus stops the donkey so he can give her a bowl of diluted wine.

“….I…..shouldn’t have made it public…” Hephaestus finally ventures.

“I guess you thought it was a clear case of justice served, but yeah, it was pretty ridiculous.”

Hephaestus tries, for the first time, to imagine how it must have looked, to an entire hall of gods much more experienced in love than he was, all of whom already knew about the affair, as Hephaestus had dragged Ares and Aphrodite out with earnest fury and indignation (his immediate reaction, before the grief and humiliation had kicked in).  It was a pretty pathetic scene, he admits unhappily.  And to gods who assumed that this too would pass, and become just another page in history, it must have been easy enough to –

“You just have to embrace it, you know?  How ridiculous it is, sometimes.  A fuckin’ tree, a fuckin’ cow, a fuckin’ time-traveling assassin.  Just embrace how stupid it is and I swear it gets easier.”

“Did someone give that advice to Aphrodite?”  Hephaestus asks tentatively.  “She… I heard that she… went to Paphos…”  All three of them had retreated to their respective strongholds in the wake of the affair, and though Hephaestus had tried to hold onto his anger, he still worried that Aphrodite might have been as damaged as he was by the whole thing.

“Ah, I think Aphrodite’s gone the ‘revenge’ route.  Pretty effectively, too.”

“…I was a dick to them…I feel kind of bad about it, how stupid is that…”  It’s strange, how wine loosens the tongue.  Hephaestus really does need to build up a tolerance before he embarrasses himself again.

“Yeah, well, they were a dick to you first.  Maybe later you can all fight it out or talk it out, or have a threesome and fuck it out, you know, whatever works?  But forget about them for now.  Tonight we’re having fun.  Tonight we’re having….” He pauses here for dramatic effect.  “ _Imported blonde ale_.”  

Hephaestus wrinkles his nose “Beer?  Isn’t that a pretty low-class drink?  Only the northern barbarians and Egyptians drink it…”  

“I’m a pretty low-class guy, Heph.  But tonight you’re going slumming along with us.”

——————————-

The party’s… better than Hephaestus was bracing himself for.

As promised, it’s a small event, and much more sedate than Dionysus is usually known for.  Athena, Apollo, and Hermes are singing something light and amusing; Artemis has come with one of her girls on her arm (though it appears that she’s looking to add to her collection); a few minor gods and nymphs fill out the rest of the grove.  Hephaestus stands near the boy serving drinks, clutching his own cup of the odd-tasting beer in one hand and white-knuckling his cane with the other, until three beautiful young ladies approach him.

These turn out to be his foster sisters, the Graces, who are as charming and lovely as promised.  They assist him in walking around while somehow managing to make it look as though he’s  _not_  crippled and deformed and depending on them to move around, and look straight into his face when they talk to him, as though his features aren’t twisted and ugly.  

Hephaestus stammers and thanks them and tries to make small talk, which they encourage sweetly, until eventually, as the charm and the alcohol take effect on him, he’s waxing enthusiastically about a new smithing technique he’s on the brink of perfecting, which will allow him to create curls and curves of bronze never before seen. At some point Apollo and Athena come over to listen, and it turns into a full-blown ‘Nerd Meeting,’ as Dionysus calls it, and – Hephaestus is actually feeling better.  It’s not like he’s feeling great, exactly: the wound still stings. But the distraction, the intoxication, and the way that his first encounter with the gods again has turned into such a non-event… it’s all drawing him out again, slowly.

After a while, the Graces discreetly help him over to a chair, made of wood and vine (one of Dionysus’, probably), as he grows weary of standing for so long.  One of them, Aglaia, has been particularly attentive all evening, and exclaims that she knows something that will take some of the ache from his leg, so he will not need to retire too early from the party.  She and her sisters excuse themselves, “for only fifteen minutes, I swear!” and rush to make the mystery ointment, leaving Athena briefly as his assistant.  

Athena contents herself to lean against a nearby tree and sip from her own cup of beer – though to judge from her expression, she’s not impressed.

“I’m glad Dionysus convinced you to come,” she says, “we’ve missed you, Heph!”

“Yeah, well… he made a pretty convincing argument,” Hephaestus smiles wryly.

“Ah-ha.  You mean, he kidnapped you again?” Athena laughs.

“Yup.”  Hephaestus finds himself laughing along with her.  Athena’s normally so straight-laced and serious, that her laughter is like balm for the soul.  The beer must have been having an effect on her as well.  “He says he just goes with what works.”

“He’s practical that way. Probably how he managed to win so many wars out in India, against all odds.”  Athena’s never managed to get over how impressed she was by that.  

Hephaestus looks down at the pale amber liquid.  It’s quiet, for the moment; the Graces are gone, Apollo’s chasing Hermes around in an argument, Artemis is kissing her girl while Dionysus cheers them on… now’s as good a moment as any he’s likely to get all night.

“We… had a talk,” he says. “About what happened.”

Her face is instantly somber again, and he almost regrets bringing it up.  “Oh?” she says softly.

“He was right, I guess. I was ready to stay in my volcano basically forever.  But… nothing changed, that way.  I still felt pretty much exactly as awful as I did when I first went there.”

“That’s what we thought was going on.  Everyone was getting worried about you.”

“So he dragged me out, and I guess it’s good to be doing something different, but… I dunno.  I still can’t understand why it happened, you know? I just… I thought I was fitting in, and I thought she – why’d she even marry me, in the first place?  If she didn’t care?”

He isn’t being fair to Athena – she’s possibly the last person in the entire world to have a good idea how to deal with emotional pain.  It’s not that she doesn’t feel emotion at all, but she does have an enviable way of being able to ignore them when they prove inconvenient, and he’s sure she has no idea what he’s going through.

But she surprises him, by stepping over to hug him.  

“I know it’s hard to internalize this, especially after all you’ve been through, but you still ought to know that you are fitting in.  You’re one of the most amiable and talented gods here, and that makes you as rare and valuable as a unicorn.  People adore you.”

“Then why did they… do that to me?” he manages to croak out, awkwardly attempting to return her hug but feeling stunned at this display.

“Aw, Heph.  I suppose I shouldn’t really answer for them, but I don’t think it was personal, if you can believe it.  They weren’t trying to hurt you.  It was all horribly inevitable.”

“Inevitable…?” He’s starting to choke up – damn it, why does alcohol do this to him??

“I can’t believe I’m defending them.  They are literally my two least favorite Olympians.”  Athena takes a deep breath, visibly going through some three-step mental process to find her chill, and then trains her clear silver eyes on Hephaestus.

“You guys were all set up to fail.  Everyone else saw it coming.  Aphrodite is… a free spirit, let’s call it.  And Ares, well, he’s never loved anyone else as much as he’s loved her. And he knew her nature, and was content to share her with the world, as long as he had a place in it with her. Then you took her away.  We all saw it coming, and I’m sorry none of us spoke up.”  

Hephaestus finishes his beer – it’s disgusting and bitter.  Just like the guy drinking it.  “I think… I saw it coming too.  I guess I knew.  She’s no man’s wife, is she?…  I just thought… because she agreed… I thought maybe she did l-love me…”  

He’s crying now, again, and ashamed of it: could there be anything more pathetic than an ugly man weeping into his beer?

A cloth touches his face; Athena’s taken out her handkerchief (neatly printed with an owl-and-olive-tree pattern) and is gently blotting the tears away.

“She did, Heph. Honestly, she probably still does. I’m sure she thought you’d understand that you couldn’t be the only one, but she was happy to be with you.” Athena discreetly sets the now-soaked handkerchief aside onto the ground.  “There wasn’t any maliciousness.  It was just a lot of bad decisions based on optimism and minds clouded with love.”

Sometimes, Athena doesn’t do a very good job disguising her bewilderment with (and scorn for) letting the heart decide.  Hephaestus manages a short chuckle through his tears, imagining how she must view the rest of them, mired as they are in love and jealousy and passion: ‘But this isn’t a logical course of action!  Why don’t they all just think about it rationally??’ (centuries later, when the gods witness the phenomenon of Star Trek for the first time, they will all collapse in riotous laughter at the appearance of Spock (with the inappropriate species name of ‘Vulcan’!), recognizing a familiar exasperated logical voice).

But she isn’t often wrong in her observations, even if it’s easier said than done.

“I guess I’ll come around to it,” he says with more optimism than he feels.  “Anyway, Dio was right, it’s helping just being out here.”

“I hope it expedites the healing process,” Athena says, and her detached words are offset by a sincere and beaming smile.

At that moment, Dionysus appears suddenly, draping himself over Athena and Hephaestus and pinching Hephaestus’ cheek.  “Okay, enough tears, more beers!”

Athena groans.  “Can’t we just have wine instead?” she pleads.

“Nope!  It’s a beer party!  You can suffer through ale one night,” Dionysus retorts cheerfully.

“It’s actually growing on me, a little,” Hephaestus says, examining his empty cup.

“Ah, Lord Hephaestus, please let us – ”

The Graces are back, effortlessly pouring him a fresh cup, while Aglaia kneels and begins wrapping a cloth, soaked through with some sweet-smelling unguent, around his leg.  

“That will keep the ache away for a few hours more,” she says, while he blushes and stammers and her sisters nudge each other and giggle.  She looks up at him with a small smile and a wink.  “I used my stole; you may keep it afterwards if you like.”

This prompts a further flurry of blushing and stammering, and when Hephaestus looks up, he sees Dionysus looking at him with an expression that is both thoughtful and wolfish.

The god of parties and wine claps his hands together.  “All right! Now that everyone’s at least slightly sauced, let’s move on to the games!”

“Games??”  Hephaestus panics slightly, as the Graces help him to his feet and offer him his cane.  “I can’t – ”

Dionysus pats his cheek. “Come on, kid, I’m running this show! I wouldn’t have games you couldn’t participate in!”

“ _You are younger than me_!” Hephaestus protests, drawing another laugh from Athena as they all move slowly towards the center of the grove.

As promised, the games are not athletic.  There’s musical games, karaoke and singalongs and a contest between Apollo and Hermes (Hermes wins by sabotaging Apollo).

There’s a game of Truth or Dare, which Hephaestus would never have voluntarily agreed to play with Hermes, and which sets up everyone present for mild humiliations – but successes and failures alike are all applauded with good cheer.  

There’s a spin-the-bottle variant with a surprising twist – whoever the bottle lands on, kisses Hephaestus! “Since we’re cheering him up,” Dionysus explains.  They play until everyone’s had a chance to plant their lips on Hephaestus, whose face hasn’t stopped being red for what feels like hours now, and the beer has really given him a pleasant buzz now, making him laugh and rate the kisses as they come.  Apollo’s is objectively perfect, to no one’s surprise; Hermes has the most surprising by bending Hephaestus into a romantic dip; even Athena gives him a kiss on the cheek, which Hephaestus decides is his favorite for the rarity.  Dionysus… really makes his count.  ‘A’ for effort and creativity.

But when the bottle points to Aglaia, the Grace of Splendour and Glory, Dionysus jumps up with a shout.

“Surprise shakeup!  After, uh… seven turns, instead of a mere kiss, Hephaestus gets Seven Minutes in Heaven behind the holly brushes!” he declares triumphantly.  

Everyone in the grove is giggling and nudging each other now, while Hephaestus splutters and tries to figure out if he should be protesting or not.  

Aglaia only smiles at him and helps him to his feet, and assists him over to the semi-secluded patch behind the holly trees, while the other partygoers clap and whistle.

It’s quieter, back here, and suddenly Hephaestus is nervous.  

“I don’t know if I’m ready yet,” he blurts out, and then immediately wishes he had functioning legs so he could kick himself.

Aglaia takes it – well, gracefully.  “Of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if you needed more time.  I’m happy just to spend a moment with you anyway.”

“O-oh?” Hephaestus manages, sounding like a gawp-jawed fool.  “It’s been – really lovely having you around, tonight…”

“Likewise!”

“Maybe – after the party – you could come to the forge, again?  Or the grotto.  Probably the grotto’s better.  I know ladies don’t like the forge, much.”  He’s starting to babble a little, nervously.

“I always liked the forge just fine,” Aglaia says.  “The place where such wonderful things were made.  I would beg Mother to allow me to visit.  See, here?  I kept these –“

She parts the top of her chiton just enough that Hephaestus can see a glimpse of perfect cleavage – and then she withdraws a necklace.  A fairly simple, almost plain chain, and wound into its links are a small collection of brightly colored adornments – rings, ear baubles, a bracelet meant for a much smaller wrist.

He touches them reverently. “I made these.”

“Years ago… they’re still the loveliest things I own.”

Hephaestus looks up at her shyly.  “I can make a better chain for you, If you’d like.”

Aglaia smiles at him. “I would like that very much.”

When their seven minutes are up, they walk back to the rest of the party, greeted by cheers and whistles and jokes.  They must all think  _something_  happened back there, from the small smile on Aglaia’s face and the way Hephaestus is grinning like an idiot, and they’re not wrong – something  _did_  happen, and Hephaestus feels terrific.  

A few days after the party, Aglaia arrives at his forge, seats herself nearby, and they talk for a while about small things.

It isn’t until a few months later when Hephaestus feels confident enough pull her gently to him, thrilling at the way she looks like she’s waited forever for this, and they share their first kiss, joyful and sober.


	2. Charity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aglaia seeks a meaningful way to stay relevant in modern times.

Like most of the old gods and goddesses, Aglaia has remained gainfully employed throughout the march of humanity, though she is rarely credited anymore.  

In fact, most of the mortals don’t even know her name now – the fate of many of her peers.  Not even all of the Twelve made the cut.  Everyone remembers Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, of course; and with a moment of thought, they could probably come up with Aphrodite, Artemis, Apollo, even Queen Hera… though they’re often confused with their Roman names.  Demeter and Hestia and even her beloved husband Hephaestus are barely remembered outside of a core group of scholars and loyal worshippers.  Minor goddesses like the Graces don’t stand a chance.

But the concepts that they champion or embody live on.  

In fact, Hephaestus’ influence has grown substantially over the centuries: the inventions he inspires the humans to create are beyond the scope of anything they could have imagined back in the old days… and most importantly, they’re an undeniable part of the domain of any other god now.  

With Zeus’ blessing (delivered with an eye-roll, but given nonetheless), he develops machines that use radar to allow mortals to predict the storms and other weather patterns.  He develops tractors, threshers, harvesters, hay balers in tandem with Demeter.  A huge joint project with Athena results in the joint creation of the computer and the Internet, which allows near-omnipotent sharing and storage of knowledge; this earns them both a banquet that lasts for weeks.  He designs engines that propel locomotives, automobiles, and airplanes, under the pretense that Hermes has too much free time for pranks and needs to be kept busier with his travelers (Hermes is delighted with the novelty but makes a point of peppering Heph with pranks just to prove he’ll always find time for hobbies).

Hephaestus works with Apollo to create bionic body parts.  As delicate and complex as an eye or a heart; as basic but essential as a leg.

Heph agonizes over the bionic leg for ages.  Aglaia knows this may be the single most important of his creations for him – he’s been able to get around with the use of his wheeled throne and chariot; his leg braces; his handmaidens; Aglaia herself.  But this leg is flawless.  It took him centuries to develop and it mimics a functioning leg perfectly. Apollo and every other god assume that he will be replacing his own withered leg immediately, but Aglaia sees the pain in her husband’s face and only kisses him and keeps silent, letting him seek her counsel if he will, but suspecting he must come to terms with it himself.

He does, eventually.

“I’m going to keep the leg I’ve got,” he finally tells her, looking determined but nervous.  “I’m the only ugly, crippled god in the Pantheon. I don’t know if – I mean, I know we don’t really have as much influence as we used to.  But if there are any mortals left who turn their hearts to us, I want the ugly and crippled ones to know there’s still someone like them – I’m still here for them.

“And it’s not like I can’t get around without the leg, you know?  I did fine for millennia!  It doesn’t hurt me and we’ve already got a God of Athletes so it’s not like I really need it for running track – ”

She kisses him fully, interrupting the nervous babbling, ignoring the obvious add-ons at the end and letting her heart ache with love for him, the worthiness she always saw in him. “My darling.  I’m so proud of you.  I know that will mean so much to the ones who still watch us, that you won’t leave them behind.  You are the most thoughtful and charitable and clever god of all and I’m so lucky you married me.”

This leads to their usual playful argument about who’s luckier that they ended up married, and is resolved in the usual way in the bedroom.

—————————–

For her part, Aglaia uses her anonymity easily enough.  As a Charite (a Grace), she embodies Splendor and Glory and is always highly desirable at mortal social events, where she slips in as a socialite “friend of a cousin” and no one can quite place where they know her from.  It gets more difficult and requires glamor spells in the days of public obsession with Burke’s Peerage and similar publications; it gets easier in the later days of celebrity fluidity and social media personalities.  She runs a few popular beauty vlogs on YouTube.  

Her older sisters attend events as well, and run their own vlogs – tall, clever Euphrosyne keeps everyone entertained with her wry jokes while soft, merry Thalia effortlessly keeps the mood positive and cheerful.  

In spite of the strong similarity in the words, “charity” is not much a part of the job description for her. Being charming and lovely is all she’s really required to do as a Charite.  

For centuries, the only connection she had with “charity” was a snide comment made by a spiteful nymph about how Hephaestus was her charity case – what other reason could she have for marrying him?

(The nymph was hit hard for her disrespect, by Aphrodite, no less; and hit literally: Aphro had clearly picked up a few boxing tips from Ares over the years.  Actually, Aphrodite has been a strong supporter of their marriage from the start, and she saw red at the remark.  She was prepared to beat the hell out of the nymph, probably resulting in murder, but Hephaestus and Aglaia placidly intervened.  “Surely she’s learned her lesson,” they charitably suggested to Aphrodite.

The goddess of love reluctantly held off the beating, but was unable to resist one final punishment. Last Aglaia heard, the nymph is doing fine in her new life as a grackle.)

But her husband’s generosity, towards mortals and fellow gods alike, makes her want to aspire to more than simply being lovely.  It’s difficult for her to see how, exactly.  The gods and goddesses can creatively interpret their duties to expand their roles and influence, but for centuries, Aglaia can’t see how she can help people the way her husband can.  

Certainly, she has pride in her own work.  Relaxing and enjoying life and good company is a crucial part of living.  And she loves to adorn her body with Hephaestus’ exquisite creations to showcase them, and teaching mortals how to decorate themselves if they also enjoy enhancing their beauty.  It’s important work, to be sure, but she wishes she could do something and know that it was needed, and improved a life.  She wants to  _help_.

Sometime in the early 1980s it hits her.  

She grabs Euterpe - one of Apollo’s muses, of music – and works closely with an Irish musician, Bob Geldof, and “Do they Know it’s Christmas” is performed by a group of celebrity musicians who call themselves Band Aid.  The following year she works with Harry Belafonte to create another group of celebrity musicians called USA for Africa and “We are the World” blares out over the radios.  

Money pours in to aid impoverished and starving people in Ethiopia and surrounding areas – millions of dollars towards relief efforts.

Aglaia is so fucking happy and proud that she cries about it off and on for most of the 80s.

Euterpe refuses to take credit for the success – “the music was kind of – well, it was the best we could come up with on the timeline,” she says, “really, people were paying attention because of the stars involved.”

Celebrity philanthropy is born.  

It’s not that the wealthy and famous haven’t been philanthropists before, but for most of history, these were privately funded.  Now, under her influence, celebrities use their influence – their charm, their popularity, their mere presence – to promote charities.  People become aware of these causes because they’re tied to the celebrities’ names, and attend events where the proceeds go towards desperately-needed funding.  Some celebrities are very enthusiastic and hands-on, but at minimum, all they need to do is be present.  All eyes are on them –  _use_  that.  Over time, it becomes all but mandatory for an individual of a certain popularity and lifestyle to choose an issue important to them and promote it.

Aglaia promotes countless crowdsourcing fundraisers backed by movie stars and politicians alike. She passes links to the Ice Bucket challenge.  She becomes an anonymous socialite attends galas in Hollywood, getting photos with other beautiful, charming, famous people, and is amused to see on the internet the following day, how people speculate where they’ve seen her before. Surely she must be  _someone_ , if she’s at these events!

It isn’t perfect – because humanity is flawed, there are those who use this trend for self-promotion. There are those who are well-meaning but promote corrupt organizations; or mishandle the funds they raise. Nothing to be done for it but to try to improve.

Hephaestus consoles her when she expresses frustration.  He’s certainly seen some of his more marvelous creations twisted into evil uses, but he doesn’t let it get him stop his kind impulses.

“And even Athena – ask her sometime how the virgin goddess feels about our awesome computer/Internet project almost immediately being used for porn.  Actually, no, don’t ask her.”

Aglaia makes a face. “Yes, I can imagine.”  

Hephaestus has made a new matching set of jewelry – bracelets, earrings, and a necklace, all wrought in silver and set with stars cut from swirled blue azurite stone – and he’s clasping the necklace about her nape as they speak.  

He leans over and kisses her bare shoulder.  “This suits you.”

“I appreciate that, my love, but your jewelry would look exquisite on anyone.”

He laughs.  “No, I mean – the new celebrity lifestyle.  The charity events.  It really brings out the best in you.  I’m proud of you, darling.”

She closes her eyes and leans her head back onto his chest.  “Thank you, Heph.  It means a lot to me to try to bring some good into the world… and I’ve always aspired to help mortals as much as you do.”

He kisses her cheek, just along the jawline.  “I know it’s taken you a while to find the niche, but I’ve always known how big your heart is.  You’re perfect, my love.”

There’s not much benefit to thinking of the grackle-nymph, the one who sneered at their marriage in ignorance, but Aglaia still wishes she could show her this: there cannot be charity when both parties are at equal advantage.  At least in the ways that count – Hephaestus may be cleverer and Aglaia more perceptive; Hephaestus stronger and Aglaia lovelier; but they are equal in their love for each other and united in their desire to make the world a more beautiful place.  Neither one is luckier for having married the other.  There is no charity here.


End file.
